


Tied To You

by crescentstrife



Series: Sefikura Week 2021 [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Control Issues, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Prompt: Puppet, Romance, Sefikura Week, Sefikura Week 2021, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28949676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentstrife/pseuds/crescentstrife
Summary: Sefikura Week 2021 Day 3 - PuppetThis is what he had always feared – that he would fall too deeply, and now, there would be no way out.After traveling back in time and saving the world, Cloud contemplates the wisdom and the ridiculousness of falling into bed with the man that shares his enemy’s face.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Series: Sefikura Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122833
Comments: 15
Kudos: 99
Collections: Sefikura (Sephiroth/Cloud) Week - Yearly Event





	Tied To You

**Author's Note:**

> Pick your favorite time-traveling AU, in which Cloud ends up falling into bed with Sephiroth. This is the conflictingly delicious angst and probably overdramatic love confession that follows.

In a way, it starts like any other night they’ve had since this tenuous truce began. Cloud would come over for dinner, they’d talk very briefly about their days, and when their conversation would shift from casual to flirting to downright dirty, Sephiroth would grab him and take him – on the counter, on the sofa, or, if either of them were patient enough to make the ten second walk from the kitchen, on the bed. And when they woke up in the early hours of the morning, the cycle would begin anew: lazy kissing in the rising sunlight, Cloud with his elbows pressed against the shower wall and Sephiroth’s strong hands grasping his hips, breakfast, sparring, more sex, and then they’d finally part for the hours of their normal workday only to come together again at night.

If Cloud thinks about this routine with any sense of distance, he would have considered it insane. This is supposed to be his destined enemy – the dark angel of his nightmares, the calamity that would destroy the world and everyone he loved in it. And while this Sephiroth had not turned away from his humanity, still had friends he cared about, SOLDIERs to lead, books to read, Zack-patented jokes to roll his eyes at, there would always be a tiny chance that he could transform into the cruel devil of Cloud’s former life. And yet, Cloud had spent these months entangled in the man’s arms, writhing beneath him wantonly.

How did he let this happen?

He looks at Sephiroth now, standing at the stove with his hair tied up in a ponytail, dropping chili powder into the pot he had been so carefully stirring. The silver-haired man’s brow is creased in deep focus, and it is such an odd thing to think that the man capable of slaughtering an entire village would be so invested in perfecting the taste of Nibelheim beef stew that Cloud’s brain nearly splits at the sheer dissonance. He finds himself doing that more often lately, stopping to pause and try to reconcile the two vastly different images of Sephiroth that his lifetimes have given him. The man and the monster. The arrogant would-be-god and the uncertain bookworm. His enemy and his lover. Two sides of the same coin, the toss of which the fate of the world hung so delicately upon.

These are all things Cloud knows, and he knows Sephiroth knows, too. Sephiroth knew even when the General couldn’t help but press his lips against Cloud’s that day in the training room, after Cloud had beaten him again in another spar. The blond had knocked the General’s sword out of his hands, pinned him underneath his legs and hips, and somehow, Sephiroth seemed to have lost himself completely. His eyes had grown hazy and without the normal caution he typically displayed in his dealings with Cloud, he had sat up and wrapped his arms around the blond. When Sephiroth finally pulled away, there was startling realization and overwhelmingly human fear and embarrassment on his face. It was so endearing, that it made Cloud want to kiss him back.

So, in spite of what he knew this man could become, Cloud did.

After that, it was just a matter of how quickly they could get from the training room back to Cloud’s apartment. The blond warrior could hardly recall the details in the mad rush, but there were pieces that he knew he would never forget: the way Sephiroth held him, his larger hands nearly circling the entirety of Cloud’s waist; how Sephiroth’s eyes were so soft and so tender; how hot and inviting the man’s mouth felt on him and around him.

( _This feels…right,_ Sephiroth had said. _It’s never felt like this before.)_

Cloud had written that instance off – and the many, many more that followed – as simple sexual attraction. That had to be it. Because there was no denying Sephiroth’s beauty: the body of a perfect sculpture, ethereally angelic features, the unnaturally lovely coloring. He could easily admit that that was a nice sight to get his rocks off to. But when a few couplings every so often turned into dinners and conversations and turned into nights and then into mornings, when the days turned into weeks and bled into months, that tale became a lot more difficult to spin.

It did not help that Sephiroth constantly went off-script: buying him flowers from Zack’s girlfriend, helping him find rare parts for his motorcycle, bringing him coffee in the mornings, learning how to cook Nibelheim beef stew because he knew it was Cloud’s favorite. It was without prompting; though, if Cloud were being honest, it was not without warning. Whether purposefully or unknowingly, Sephiroth did not hide how he felt. It was evident in the way that he looked at Cloud, especially if he thought the blond was not paying attention. It was evident in the way that he touched him, each trace of his fingers dripping with a devotion that made Cloud shudder and ache, but most decidedly not from pain. It was evident in the way Sephiroth would never fail to smile against his lips in-between kisses and in-between their lovemaking.

All of that was there, from the very start. And even if the signs were less obvious, Cloud would have known anyway. Because if there was ever a subject that the blond knew best in the world, Sephiroth would be it. In his former life, that was out of necessity – one must know one’s enemy to defeat him, and after so many battles across the years, Cloud had grown to know Sephiroth intimately. Though this was not the exact same man, that did not matter. Sephiroth still read to Cloud like a well-worn book. It was as if the man’s very being was a permanent fixture in Cloud’s mind, like the vestiges of torn puppet strings that had once bound Cloud to a monster that happened to share his lover’s beautiful face.

That alone should have been frightening to Cloud, and it was. But only at first, because now, watching the very man cook him his favorite childhood dish, it threatens to become something else entirely.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Sephiroth calls, turning his head slightly to look at the blond sitting at his kitchen island. “I’ve been trying to improve this flavor, given your last critique.”

“You did fine last time,” Cloud says.

“You had said it was missing some spice.”

It had been, the first time Sephiroth attempted to craft Nibelheim beef stew. But the missing flavor was not what had bothered Cloud that night – it was that Sephiroth had tried making it in the first place. Cloud remembered searching the man’s eyes for some ulterior motive, some twisted explanation as to why he would perform this tender gesture. He had been trying to convince himself that this could not possibly be real. And yet, the truth, ever so cautious and hopeful, was plain to see in those beautiful green eyes. Of course, Sephiroth would never say so, but Cloud suspects that is only because the man knew voicing that thought would upset him. And that care, that foresight, is something Cloud is conflictingly irritated by and grateful for.

 _Oh, Gaia. What is this?_ The whole rush in his mind, the overthinking, the complications – it had become exhausting. And yet, the mere thought of simply ending the dance between them is something that Cloud knows would destroy the remains of his already broken heart. But what is there to do, when the only other option left felt like a vice grip on his twisted conscience?

Cloud sighs, dropping his head to rest in his hands.

Of course, immediately, Sephiroth responds, with that concern for Cloud that had oddly become so characteristic of him. “Are you alright?” he asks. The man had turned down the stove to a light simmer, the flame a tiny halo encircling the burner. “I am sorry, I meant to have this ready for you earlier.”

“It’s not dinner. Well, it is, but it isn’t.”

The unease on Sephiroth’s face transforms into confusion, his silver eyebrows arching high. He wants to ask, Cloud can tell, but Sephiroth also wants to avoid pushing. Because while the man brings plenty of his own demons to this relationship, none of them bear resemblance to Cloud. Instead, Sephiroth says, “Alright,” and starts organizing the dishware for their dinner.

On any other night, Cloud would have been grateful for the space. But tonight, something is different. Whether it is the pressure of these swirling thoughts battering against his skull, or the fact that the stew on the stove smells so much like the one he used to make with his mother on Yule ( _and isn’t that complicated enough?_ ), or the way Sephiroth looks disarmingly human in a ponytail and navy sweater, the knife’s edge of Cloud’s sanity now tears straight through him. And the pain of the thousandth cut becomes unbearable.

“It’s not alright,” Cloud responds, standing up. He moves around the island to stand next to the stove, in front of Sephiroth, and repeats, “It is not alright.”

Bewilderment flashes across Sephiroth’s face, and Cloud refuses to acknowledge the way that sight shoots like lightening in his heart.

“I don’t understand,” the silver-haired man begins, even though Cloud knows that he does, knows that this is exactly the outcome Sephiroth had been trying so hard to avoid.

“This is too much. I can’t.”

Sephiroth’s expression turns pleading. “We can order something else for dinner,” he tries. “I apologize, I should have realized that this would have upset you. I was merely attempting to—”

“No.”

“Cloud, please.”

Cloud pulls away from the hand that reaches out to him, as if Sephiroth is a burning flame. “Stop it. Please stop it.”

Sephiroth stops moving, almost stops breathing, and though he towers over Cloud physically, the blond can tell that the man is now trying to make himself as small as possible. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Please, stop apologizing. I can’t take it.”

A silence, choking and corroding, falls between them, marred only by the soft bubbling off the stew. Sighing, Cloud lifts his hand to turn the stove off, the click of the knob ringing in the air with an eerie weight. He waits for a moment, to steel himself readily, and then finally glances upward to look Sephiroth in those green eyes -- eyes that look exactly like the ones in his nightmares but are instead filled with the kind of devotion that he so desired in his dreams. It is because of that very devotion that Cloud has to say this, has let Sephiroth know the truth, has to try and let Sephiroth go. 

“Can’t you see how unfair this is to you? To be with someone who can’t look past some evil version of you? Who may not be able to feel the same way that you do?”

In the space between Cloud’s words, Sephiroth lets out a breath. For a moment, Cloud hears resignation – and the thought of the man stepping backward and increasing the distance makes Cloud feel weak in the knees. But instead, Sephiroth moves forward to capture his body, those strong hands grasping at the small of his back, those green eyes now so close, so present, so beautiful. 

“If it were not for you, I would have not had the freedom to make my own choices, to mark my own fate. That is the most precious gift anyone has ever given me.”

“If you’re doing all this because you think you have to repay me, then—”

“I am not. You know that. You know why.”

Cloud can feel himself shaking in that grasp, though they both know it is not from fear of the man whose arms are wrapped around him. His hands move, to touch that face, to keep it close. “Then say it,” Cloud half-dares and half begs. He keeps his gaze steady, blue into green, because he doesn’t want to miss the moment that the spell is cast and the sorcery cracks through the reality of everything he had thought was true and real and that he had so carefully built from the wreckage of his broken mind.

Sephiroth presses his forehead against Cloud’s. “I love you,” he breathes.

It is like magic after all. His body moves, wrapping himself around Sephiroth, melding their lips together. The silver-haired man lifts him onto the countertop and closes the remaining distance by stepping in-between Cloud’s legs. In between gentle presses of lips, he continues to cast the spell. _I love you. I love you._ And each enchantment makes the desire to be one curl inside Cloud with increasing and incessant fervor. It is almost as if he would die without Sephiroth’s touch, without his love, without him, as if the need for Sephiroth had become his basest instinct, woven into every fiber of his cells.

This is what he had always feared – that he would fall too deeply, and now, there would be no way out.

Except the fear is the last thing on Cloud’s mind now. He reaches forward to tug at the other man’s sweater, but instead of giving into the urge, devouring and possessing him, Sephiroth stops. He pulls back, creating a distance between them that is just shy of painful for Cloud, and the blond nearly groans at the lack of contact.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud says, trying to reach out, claw for more.

But the man merely takes Cloud’s hand in his, briefly dips his head to brush his lips against the knuckles. “It is so terribly easy to get lost in you, Cloud Strife,” he says, with a half-hearted laugh.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I only want that if you do, too. You said this was unfair for me, and I have told you that does not matter and why. But none of that changes the truth that this is difficult for you.”

Cloud resists the urge to roll his eyes, because leave it to this infuriating man to want to have a serious conversation when right now, none of things Cloud wants to do to Sephiroth involve talking.

_(But there is a small part of Cloud that recognizes that this fact is one of the reasons that he…)_

“It won’t get easier,” Cloud says, opening his arms to the man, hoping it would be enough of an invitation to bring him back, in spite of the truth tumbling out of his mouth. “I might hate you some days, and I might punch you in the face, even if it isn’t your fault.”

To the blond’s relief, Sephiroth does finally step into him, closer. “It would be worth it,” the man whispers in between kisses on his neck and ear. “You are worth that and so much more.”

“Even if I’ll always be a little afraid, to be yours?”

Sephiroth pauses, breath ghosting hot against Cloud’s cheek. “The truth is Cloud, that you already own me. I am, and always have been, yours.”

He says it so easily, a casual surrender of strength, of will, of being, of control, that it takes Cloud’s breath away. There is no uncertainty in Sephiroth’s expression, none of the fear of the loss of oneself that Cloud had been so terribly rushing away from, so steadfastly trying to fight against. The strange reversal is jarring, is terrifying, is beautiful, is _right._

If Sephiroth would willingly tie his heart, his puppet strings, to Cloud…

Cloud leans over to dip a finger ever so lightly into the surface of the forgotten stew, having cooled in the intervening minutes. He brings the finger to his lips, tasting, watching the way Sephiroth’s eyes glow dark and hazy with the movement.

“It’s perfect,” Cloud whispers. “I never told you thank you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“But I want to. You know that. You know why.”

Sephiroth smiles. “Then say it.”

Cloud leans forward, brushes their lips just so, then lets himself complete the spell, to bind their strings together.

_”I love you, too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> That's day 3 of Sefikura Week 2021 completed!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me on this ride. I hope you've been enjoying as much as I have!


End file.
